To The Soul
by PineappleOverlord
Summary: Sasuke will be forever remembered as a villain, but to Naruto, he will only ever be a friend. After all, he knows him better than that. He knows the Uchiha better than anyone. AU
1. Chapter 1

When the world begins anew

When the stars reclaim the empty sky

When the flowers break free of their earthen prisons...

Remember me

Because I will always remember you.

• • •

I remember when we first met. I was drowning and you were my lifeline. As soon as I looked at you, I felt like I could breathe again. The feel of the oxygen rushing back into my system was intoxicating, the air heady and sharp in my lungs. It was your eyes that rescued me, like the night; a dark, abysmal blue filled with stars of refracted light.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Don't say that."

I had heard those words too many times. I hated them. I simply didn't understand why people felt obliged to take the blame for events that weren't their fault. The words were slivers of obligatory lies that even I could see through, naïve as I was.

"I don't know what else to say."

"I don't think you can."

I didn't know you but I knew I was fortunate to even lay eyes on you. Our parents were friends from far back, having discovered a mutual interest in alchemy when they were still studying in Konoha. And when my parents moved, the bonds of friendship still remained. Every month, we would receive some written correspondence and each word practically throbbed with the affection stored therein.

I always wanted to meet you, the talented Uchiha heir whom I had heard so much about.

"I'm Sasuke."

I nodded, fully aware of your name.

"Hi," you added, as though uncertain, however your voice betrayed you were nothing of the sort.

I smiled thinly.

"Naruto? I'm sorry,"

I averted my eyes to the floor, "I said..."

"I'm not sorry for what happened to your mum and dad. I'm sorry for you. I don't know how it feels to have the people you love most in the world taken from you, but I know it's horrible. It must feel like... I don't know… a knife right in your heart. And I'm sorry that you have to go through that pain. But I swear, I'll try and heal that pain for you."

I looked up, noticing that your hair was most likely uncared for, despite its deceptively neat front. If I had hair like yours, like a crow's wings, I would certainly have put in a little more effort maintaining that lustre.

"... Thank you, Sasuke."

We glanced over at your parents, still talking to the courier from my hometown. I'd known Jiraiya from birth. He was my tutor, a wizened old sage who was somehow connected to my parents. Over glistening night-cast plains and bottles of fine wine, he and my dad used to reminisce about the old times, back in Konoha. Mum would offer up a coveted memory when the conversation stilled, and they would laugh and be happy. Jiraiya was an incredible man, perfectly balancing his intelligence and joviality, and had a reputation with women that I wouldn't understand until I was a lot older.

"Thank you, Sir Jiraiya," your dad said, with an incline of his head It was almost as if he was thanking him for everything he had ever done, but your dad simply didn't understand the extent of his kindness.

Jiraiya walked my way, his robes trailing from extended arms. He leant down to embrace me, and I was swallowed by waves of silk. I didn't mind that my breathing was constricted. Clutching onto his portly figure and drinking in his scent, that all too familiar scent of ambrosial liquor and bitter cologne, I knew I would miss him. My last friend was no longer mine. My eyes stung. I don't think it was from the cologne.

"I'll be back soon, Naruto."

"Please..." I whispered.

I was too young.

He gently caressed my untamed hair, letting me hold him, letting me carry myself back to when I was five, when tailed beasts still lurked beneath my bed and my single protector was a battered, dog-eared fox. I realised now that there were still beasts in this world, and their names were loneliness, despair and death.

I disentangled myself from the confines of the cloth, looking up at him with something akin to desperation in my eyes, "Please..."

Jiraiya bent down further, so that our eyes were almost level. He took my hands in his calloused mitts and pressed something into my palm. It was cold and smooth and innocuously breakable beneath my fingers.

He smiled, and drew his hands away. A porcelain frog was gazing up at me, plump with pride. There was a piece of Jiraiya in every facet of that face- the burning intelligence in the eyes, the misshapen nose, the creased neckline.

"His name is Icha. He will watch over you while I'm gone and listen to everything you have to say. Until I come back, you have him. He'll be your friend when I can't possibly hope to me."

That stinging in my eyes had restarted, and this time, I couldn't deny it came from the impending tears. I flung my arms around Jiraiya once more, and we embraced for a few more precious seconds.

"I'll miss you, Naruto."

"Please… don't leave me," and my voice was glass, the tremors that shook it transparent and fragile.

"I don't want to go. Not yet."

But his life was calling, and he had to answer.

I watched him as he drove away.

A minute of heartbreak passed before you stepped over to me, a hand extensed to supply some much-needed comfort. I didn't even glance at you and grasped the porcelain frog tight, as if it was a buoy and I was sinking

"Careful," you murmured, "You'll break it."

I would break it and watch it crumble into a galaxy of clay shards to be passed over and forgotten.

"I won't. It's not as if someone can just forget things, Sasuke."


	2. Chapter 2

What are you supposed to do when the world changes?

Do you try and adapt yourself to fit it?

Do you try to resist the pull of evolution and battle the differences?

Or do you just stay the same?

I hope you made the right choice, whatever it is.

•••

Konoha was very different from Uzushio. Where once there were whirlpools that fizzed energy, now there were rolling hills that crashed into one another in explosions of forested foam. Tentative fingers of sunlight streaked thought the surrounding foliage, setting your city aglow.

It could have been a heaven, but it wasn't mine. Your world was cut off from the rest of the universe, submerged by the surrounding knolls and guarded by wooden sentinels. Your walls served as bars. Your smiles wore hardly-concealed pity.

Itachi was the worst. Your older brother was the most depreciating of them all, with his sad smiles and patronising conversation. His eyes were yours, yet not sharp but mellow with repressed memories. The lines set under his eyes claimed that he too knew sadness, but he couldn't, not here, not in your personal heaven. His pretences and masks were too much; I avoided him when I could.

However, I was willing to spend some time with you.

As soon as I had laid eyes upon you that autumn, I knew you were the closest to a friend I would ever have. Although I preferred my solace, my grief and my self-pity, you drew me to your side and said, with your eyes alone, 'Don't worry. It'll get better. The pain will fade. I promise.'

I didn't know whether you really felt that way or if I was just seeing things that I wanted to. And I wasn't sure if you had experienced enough to know for certain. But I decided to listen to those eyes anyway.

We took things slowly at first. Despite waking up at dawn, I would only rise and head downstairs at eight or nine. I would sit near the end of the elongated table and wait for the servants to bring breakfast.

"Good morning," they would say with wary enthusiasm.

"Good morning," I would reply.

Once a week, they would string out this half-hearted conversation a little longer, "How are you?"

And I would shrug.

Sometimes, you would stumble into the room with hair ebulliently askew and seat yourself beside me. We wouldn't talk, and it was comfortable that way. Other days, you would come in fully-dressed, light the candle over the mantle, then leave. It was a strange ritual that I couldn't quite comprehend.

When I had eaten, washed and dressed, I would head out into the grounds of your compound. Every so often, I would come across your parents and be obliged to wander with them awhile. Usually, I would ramble alone. However, you were slowly learning where I was to be found, and you'd appear a couple times, but not enough to intrude. We didn't talk in the garden either, unless we found Itachi between the hedgerows and had to escape his presence.

I could tell you doted upon your older brother by the way those eyes illuminated when they saw him. But you were perceptive enough to see I disliked him, and kind enough to favour my company over his. As soon as I was gone, I would always see you venture back to his side.

If it rained, you were more willing to spend time with me. With barely any regard to my privacy, you would glide into my room, chest board tucked in the crook of your arm, and place it down on the low table by my bedside.

"Let's play," you would announce, and I had no choice but to join in.

It was riveting watching you play. Your eyes alight with intelligence, and your head resting upon your knee, you would ponder each move with utmost care. I tried to copy you, but I could never wrap my head around the complexity. I would move whatever piece got me closer to you.

Still, we didn't talk, until that inevitable, smug, "Checkmate, Uzumaki."

Every now and again, you would hand the win over to me. You tried to conceal it, but there was something in your demeanour that made me suspect otherwise.

Sometimes, we would play cards, but I was even worse with that. I could hardly even beat you at snap.

And then lunch would come, cutting our game short. You would seat yourself between Itachi and myself and though you only spoke with him, I didn't mind.

Even in autumn, the midday heat was still almost overbearing, and we would retreat to our rooms for a few hours. But sleep always gave way to grief. If you heard my low, keening wails, you never remarked on it. And I respected you for that.

Rarely, I would remain in that state for hours on end. Otherwise, I would head downstairs to try and find other means of occupying my time. It wasn't a difficult task, since your family owned almost everything one could own.

Afternoons would fly by and be subtended into dinner, by all means a quiet affair compared to the Uchiha standard. And dinner would be replaced by night, and an invite to sleep.

So I slept, and I dreamed.

I dreamed red. Red like sunset. Red like fire. Red like blood. Uchiha red. In my dreams, there would be tears and rain and storms, there would be screams of indiscriminate age and gender. I would dream of hope and watch its body bleed. But most of all, I dreamed of people. Corpses. An orange mask.

And when I awoke, you would be by my bedside, cool, porcelain hands wiping the horrors from my mind, "It's alright. It didn't happen."

"It was real."

"But you're fine now, aren't you? You're safe."

"Am I?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"...yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

Every second is a revelation.

You see the way eyes crinkle with happiness,

You hear the notes to the symphony the breeze is playing,

And the world becomes art before your eyes

Knowledge is a beautiful thing

You gave me some space to adjust to the new lifestyle, some time to learn the finer details of your lives. Somehow, you understood I wouldn't know everything at once- perhaps my parents had told yours that I wasn't as gifted as yourself- and let experience be my teacher.

And I did learn, slowly.

I learnt that you weren't the kings I had previously thought you to be, just lords. I learnt that parents could have names; yours were Fugaku and Mikoto. I learnt that the trees to the west were older than those to the east. I learnt the rooms of your house back to front and upside down and began to stray from my standard rigmarole of the day.

I studied you the most. You were enigmatic, undisclosed, a puzzle for me to solve. I hadn't ever had much patience with puzzles, but yours came easily to me. Little things, like the way you spoke, built up my answer. Unlike others, you didn't assume a different voice depending on who you were speaking to. You spoke to servants with the same respect as nobles, and you spoke to strangers just as lovingly as friends. Sometimes, that confused me. I didn't know quite where I stood in your eyes.

You betrayed very little, and so I knew I could trust you. I slowly learnt to confide in you as the weeks passed, and conversation was no longer an unknown concept to us. I still rarely spoke- I had not yet won the tug-of-war against grief- but words came more naturally. Now, when the servants bid me 'good morning,' I would reply with conviction, perhaps venture a, 'could you bring me the milk?' or a 'is Sasuke up?'

I realised I was sleeping longer, more comfortably, when I had seen the candle burning on the hearth, and had the latter question answered with, 'he's with his tutor' every day of the week.

And that week, I didn't particularly mind. I continued with my normal routine of walking through the gardens until an unfortunate run-in with Itachi.

He was bent over a piece of parchment, seemly engrossed in its contents, but not enough so as not to notice me when I rounded the corner. Your brother looked up, fixed me with his sad eyes and greeted me.

Once someone has spoken, it's rude to not reply- that's what my parents always told me- and so I had no choice but to say hello. But my parents also said it's impolite to leave unless necessary, or the conversation has ended, and I didn't think my unsolicited dislike for your brother made escape absolutely necessary. So I just stood there, shuffling my feet.

The scratch of quill on parchment resonated through the air. Should I bid him good day? Should I enquire what his business was? Could I take my leave? After all, this was no real conversation, not until Itachi looked up again, "Could you come here, Naruto?"

The shock in my eyes and the quake in my legs must've gave away my astonishment, though I tried to walk as if I did not distrust him. Up close, the hollows under his eyes seemed deeper, the look in them even more haunted. It was just the eyes though; his posture spoke of pride and a life without cares. His voice was the same, "Can you give me some advice?" he asked, putting the parchment in my hands.

I looked over it, but the letters refused to cooperate with one another. The spindly calligraphy did nothing to help, and I found myself wordless, "I- I don't know.

"Can you not read?"

I was silent for a moment, "I can, but..."

His eyes were too much. I could read the words in them. They called me stupid, and dumb, and moronic. They were patronising, insulting, judgemental.

Your brother could solve his own problems.

I walked back inside, straight past the dining room, left of the hall, and into the drawing room. You were there, with a man I didn't recognise. His hair had aged quicker than his flesh; white against the smooth porcelain skin. An eyepatch protected the one eye, the other was dull. There was nothing else to that face, since the collar of his jerkin obscured his nose and jaw. He was utterly unreadable.

I would soon learn that his name was Kakashi, that he was almost definitely the most intelligent man in Konoha, that the eyepatch was just a fluke. I would learn from him too; of sin, cos, and tan, of glaciers and deserts, of poetry and prose.

But then, I only knew one thing about him and it was that he was capable of one thing.

"Teach me."


	4. Chapter 4

There are people with hearts made of something greater than gold

People who can find beauty in everything

People who can mute the rest of the world

People who can see pain and erase it in an instant

People like you

It was difficult, being thrown into your great whirlpool of knowledge without any idea what was going on or how to get back out. I struggled even from the first lesson; my parents had never thought the prevalence of trade important enough, and I was never taught. You, however, could roll figures off your tongue for anything- rice, wine, silk, fruit, gold. Yet it wasn't long until I realised you weren't passionate about anything. Trade simply didn't interest you, nor did politics or history or physics. Not even alchemy, our parents' greatest love could evoke any curiosity. You did everything with practised halfheartedness.

Except when it came to me. It struck me as odd as soon as I realised, but honestly, I couldn't complain. You went the distance to make me comfortable, and whether that was because you were being made to or that you actually wanted to, I didn't know. But it helped, all the words and games and comfort. And while your family could hardly get a word out of me, I trusted you wholly.

Even though we were far from alike, there was a sort of mutual understanding between us. You would trade me answers to maths questions in return for the pastries and sweetmeats I wheedled from the cooks at your behest.

One day, I was too lazy to fulfil my part of the exchange, so you left me to my inept silence in class. When I complained later, over a game of chess, you stretched out lazily, a satisfied smirk on your face, "Well, that's not my fault now, is it, dobe?"

Dead last. True, perhaps, but last of two and hardly worth a boast. I scowled, "Teme."

You laughed and prompted a pawn forward within striking distance of my rook. I took the bait, and you nudged another piece into place, "Check, dobe."

From then on, the rally of insults ignited. Back and forth, me to you, the same words rebounding off unmoved faces. Neither of us minded the names much; it was a familiarity, waking up each morning to the exclamations of distaste.

To me, it was as familiar as the nightmares. Masked men and flames and the tailed monsters that I was so scared of as a child returned each night to wake me cold and wet with perspiration. Sometimes, I would find the courage within me to fall back asleep, but most nights, I stayed up until sunrise to avoid the dreams.

One night, I awoke to twisted sheets and the sound of scratching. My fear-addled mind created my monsters in the hallway, and I was almost too afraid to stand, but I did, and found light blazing from beneath your door.

The ancient wood croaked in dismay as it was pushed away. I found you sat cross legged on your bed, quill in hand. What I had thought to be the work of my tormented beasts was actually the rasp of quill on parchment; probably important, considering the time. Your face was deadpan as you focused on your task and the thought struck me again. You seemed as dispassionate, immovable and dreamless as usual.

"What do you care about?"

You looked at me as if I had asked you why pigs don't fly, "What?"

"You don't seem to enjoy anything much. Most people have passions, and goals, but you... it doesn't seem like you do."

You were silent a moment, considering my words then, "Life," you said, "I'm interested in life."

I was about to cut in, tell you that was a stupid answer, everyone was interested in life, otherwise we'd all be dead long ago, but then you continued.

"Don't you think it's weird? Beautiful, even? Life? How if even the smallest thing goes wrong, it all collapses? If your cells grow too fast, you get tumours, too slow and your body ceases to operate. And two organs smaller than your fist keep the whole system working. The heart, and the brain. What's more beautiful than the human body is bees. They shouldn't even be flying, and yet they do it anyway. Without them, the whole world would wither away. And when they detach their stingers, it kills them. It's almost like they know."

I thought about that for a moment. I had always considered bees to be a pain, useful for nothing other than driving you to a slow insanity with their incessant buzzing.

"And you? What do you care about?"

"People, I guess."

You nodded slowly, and all at once, my words seemed more profound. And then you looked at the battered fox hanging from my fingers, acted as if you hadn't noticed it until then, "Why are you here, dobe? It wasn't just to ask me that.

"Nightmare," I muttered, embarrassed. I was one-and-ten, too old to toss and turn in bed, and yet so violently affected by the flames that feasted off my sleepless nights.

You looked at me kindly, and yet I was more afraid. Would you judge me? Would you consider the new-forged friendship a waste? A shudder of apprehension ran through me.

But presently, you smiled and patted the bed beside you, "Come here, scaredy cat. You can sleep in my room. I'll make sure no monsters come for you.

"But-"

"It's fine. One of the handmaids will move your bed on the morrow. For now, rest. I am an Uchiha, and we will do anything for the ones we love."


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes, risks need to be taken.

You won't ever walk if you're afraid to stumble.

You won't ever fly if you're afraid to fall.

You won't ever live if you're afraid to die.

Were you ever afraid, Sasuke?

Hardly had autumn faltered when winter pushed it aside. We fell asleep one night to the leisurely descent of the first leaves, and awoke the next morning to find they had all lost patience and fallen to the ground. The sky was uncertain whether to follow suit- clouded over with the coming rain, but not yet oppressive with winter's chill.

Now that the trees were naked and shivering in the wind, Konoha felt less of a fortress and more of a prison. Before, the foliage had masked us from the gaze of any wicked eye, but now the branches created a living, swaying cage around us.

When I voiced my concerns to you, your eyes were laughing softly at me, though your voice was soothing and almost paternal, "It's fine, dobe. But if they really trouble you, you can always ask father to chop them down."

I declined the offer; I knew the place would feel empty and lifeless without them in the summer. Besides, as much as the trees unnerved me, a prison is just as difficult to enter as it is to leave.

The arrival of the mummers later that week proved me wrong. They danced and skipped and ran and stumbled their way into the Uchiha compound with accustomed ease. The troupe was easy to distinguish from the usual throng of civilians; a few rode on dogs and pigs, some dragged booths and stalls behind them, the majority were marred and disfigured, and all were saturated with colour, so unlike the drab autumnal hues of the rest of town.

You told me it was tradition, that throughout the year, entertainers from Suna and Ame and Kiri and all the other villages would tour each precinct. The fire lands had their turn during the transition between autumn and winter, and since Konoha was the most established town, we were first priority. And now that you mentioned it, I remembered that every so often mummers would visit my home, but there'd be far less of them. I guess Uzushio wasn't as important.

By the time daylight had transcended into iridescent night, the travellers had initiated themselves into the heart of the compound, both figuratively and literally. They were talking and laughing with the locals, enquiring about pets and the yield of the crop. Any hopes of sleep were stilled by the gentle thrum of voices down below. Not that I wished to- no, my main priority was to join the festivities.

"Sasuke?" I said, "Is there any chance we could go down and join in? Your parents, Itachi, they wouldn't mind, would they?"

You set down the book which had stolen your attention away from the commotion outside. Now you looked long and hard at the view, "Some unspoken rule dictates that my family should only join in on the second day. As much as I'd like to-" my fallen smile might have changed your words, or perhaps they were already coming, "comply, it does get rather dull waiting around, don't you think?"

The fallen smile flew back onto my features as you led me into the village, wavering slightly when I saw how many people there were. Someone could easily hide within the throng. A mask would not seem so out of place among the travelling show. Any alchemic evils would be obscured by the festivities. You sensed my anxiety and grappled for my hand, finding it at last and holding it tight.

You led me through rows of the weirdest people I was like to meet- a puppeteer who was a puppet himself, a man who could detach whole limbs, another who felt no pain even as a sword was stuck into his chest, one who was more plant than man. Others were craftsmen and alchemists rather than anomalies of humanity. As we passed, one woman put a paper rose in my hand, one that smelt soft and pastel like a real flower, attracting the butterflies that lingered in the lantern-lit night. The last breed of travellers were the showmen, like one man who could project things away by sheer force of mind.

When I looked over to you, your eyes were drawn elsewhere, to what was undoubtedly the biggest dog in the world. The white terrier sat on its haunches, panting. Even sitting as he was, he was taller than his owner- by no means short himself. He looked to be about our age, but was five years taller, with a face that was already starting to chisel and define. With a mischievous smile, he beckoned us over.

"What's an Uchiha doing out so early, eh?"

You removed your hand from mine in order to brush away your identifiable raven black hair, "Just showing the Noel festivities to dobe here."

"Teme," was my immediate response, before I turned to the other boy, "I'm Naruto."

"Kiba. And this is Akamaru. Little demon of a dog."

Akamaru barked angrily when he registered the insult, but a belly rub helped soothe any hurt feelings.

Hanging above Kiba's head was a bird cage, inside it, a small yellow warbler. I tugged softly on your arm, and pointed upwards. The bird registered the attention and sparked into a short song.

Kiba followed our gaze, "My sister found the chick a couple of weeks ago. We have to sell it- taking care of this big brute is hard enough," he laughed, sliding his arms around the dog's neck and ruffling his fur.

As if in a mirror, another set of arms encircled your shoulders, "You're not supposed to be out yet, Sasuke."

"Nii-san…" you muttered apologetically, although I wasn't sure who the apology was directed at. Your friend Kiba, for having to leave? Me, for not buying the bird? Or Itachi himself, for disobeying the Uchiha creed?

However, there was no apology in those piercing black eyes.


End file.
